


the space between thorns

by wildmachinery



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Comfort, Guilt, Kallus Is A Mess, Lasat kisses, M/M, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildmachinery/pseuds/wildmachinery
Summary: “I don’t much miss being under arrest in an Imperial cell, waiting to be executed,” Kallus says. “Last time was enough for me.”
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020.





	the space between thorns

The cell is barely big enough to walk six paces.

“Kal,” Zeb grumbles tiredly, “sit down, would you, you're givin’ me a headache.” 

Six halting steps to the wall, turn, six steps back. The ship's engines hum like a vibroblade under his feet. His leg aches. He can’t stop. Zeb catches his wrist from where he’s sitting on the bench, and Kallus jerks away before he can think better of it. “Sorry,” he says. He ducks his head, a cold familiar wash of shame in his chest; this is _Zeb_ , stars, what is _wrong_ with him. “I'm sorry.”

“Did I hurt you?” Zeb asks.

To Kallus's horror, his eyes sting with tears; he turns away. “Of course not,” he says, voice even. He squeezes his eyes shut. _I know what happens to Lasat in an Imperial_ _prison_ , Zeb had told him. Kallus knows now, too. “I'm fine,” he says.

He hears Zeb getting to his feet behind him. “What is it, then?”

Kallus swipes angrily at the tears on his cheeks. He hopes Zeb doesn't notice; this is intolerable, his weakness. “I don’t like you being here.”

“Well, I’m not exactly crazy about being here myself,” Zeb snaps back, sounding stung.

Kallus half-turns back to him, hands raised placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I-” He drops his hands with a sigh. What is he supposed to say? _It’s not safe for you here_? _I can’t bear the thought of the Empire putting their hands on you again_? It’s idiotic. They both know their duty. “I’m sorry,” he says again, quiet. Maker, he is thoroughly sick of himself.

“Stop that,” Zeb says. “I know what you meant. We’ll be okay, you know. They’ll get us out.”

“Yes,” Kallus says. “Your friends will come for you.” It’s the one bright thought in his mind right now, that the _Ghost_ ’s crew would rather die than leave Zeb in Imperial custody. He doubts they feel the same about him. 

“ _Our_ friends, you mean. For _us_.” 

He keeps forgetting; Zeb seems convinced that the Rebellion has forgiven him, that they are anything more than tolerant of him. As if his time undercover as Fulcrum could possibly wipe out years of aggressive enmity. “Of course.”

Zeb sighs. “Kal.”

Kallus can't imagine anything he'd like to discuss less. “It would be nice to get off this ship.” He scrubs his hands over his face and huffs out something that might have passed for a laugh. “You know, when I was first assigned to a star destroyer, I was ecstatic,” he says. “We were all mad for the chance of ship duty at the Academy; everyone wanted to be a spacer. And I was so glad to get off the ground after-” He breaks off and swallows hard. “Now, though…” he trails off - what? The metallic, antiseptic tang of recycled air; the hum of the reactors vibrating in his bones, too low for human hearing; he had loved it more than anything, once. Now, it means only crushing silence, pain, isolation; the taste of blood in his mouth and the inescapable knowledge of his own failures. “They're cold,” he says. “I never realized how _cold_ they were, before Bahryn.” He laughs again, low and humorless. “Even the meteorite died after a few days in my quarters.”

Zeb sucks in a breath. "You kept it?” He sounds surprised.

“Of course I did,” Kallus says. “I wish I could have taken it with me, when I left.” He misses it almost as much as his bo-rifle.

“You were lucky enough to get yourself out,” Zeb growls, then softens. “Maybe we can find you another one, hey?”

“It's not that I don't have some fondness for the memories of our time together on Bahryn, Garazeb,” Kallus says, “but let's never go back. Please.”

Zeb barks out a laugh. “Don't much miss the bonzamis myself.”

“I don’t much miss being under arrest in an Imperial cell, waiting to be executed,” Kallus says. “Last time was enough for me.” He can feel his lungs constricting again and can’t seem to do anything about it. It’s humiliating; as if he hasn’t been in worse situations. As if _Zeb_ hasn’t. He covers his face with his hands and gasps for breath.

He starts at the feeling of Zeb’s big hands on his shoulders, squeezing, grounding. “Easy now, Kal. Talk to me.”

If he starts to cry now, he’ll never forgive himself. “I hate this,” he manages to grind out. “ _Kriff._ I kriffing hate that you're here.” He gasps again. “I hate that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

Afraid. Unforgivable _._ Monstrous. “Weak,” he spits. The word feels like thorns in his mouth. He tastes blood; sees red behind his closed eyes. He can’t breathe.

“Hey!” Zeb barks. It startles Kallus into looking up, into his narrowed eyes. “Don’t look away,” he orders. “Breathe with me.” He pulls Kallus’s hand up to rest on his broad chest as it rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “I’m here with you, Kal. Breathe.” His eyes never leave Kallus’s. Kallus feels magnetized. He breathes.

“There now,” Zeb says. “That’s better.” He brings their foreheads together gently.

Kallus closes his eyes in relief. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. It sometimes feels like that’s the only thing he’s capable of saying these days.

“None of that,” Zeb hushes him. “I’ve been a soldier a long time, Kal, you think I’ve never seen this before? You think I haven’t gone through it myself?” He covers Kallus’s hand on his chest with his own. “You’re not weak. If you were, you would have given up a long time ago, not kept fighting. You’re one of the bravest people I know. You wouldn’t be here with me now otherwise.”

Kallus feels a rueful smile curving the corners of his mouth, involuntary. “Just keep fighting, eh?” he sighs. “Never surrender? That sounds like rebel talk to me, Zeb.”

Zeb laughs. “You would know, Captain.” He tugs Kallus closer, slides his arms around him. His head dips towards Kallus's ear. “Aleksya,” he murmurs. His breath is warm on Kallus's skin, his voice a low, soothing rumble. Kallus shivers, helplessly, tension bleeding out of him. Zeb always runs hot; it feels so good to be close to him.

“Garazeb Orrelios,” he says softly, “wherever did you hear a name like that?”

“I've been around,” Zeb tells him. Kallus can hear his smile. “You pick things up.”

“Coruscanti nicknames?” He breathes in and sets his palms lightly on Zeb’s waist, not quite sure of his welcome.

“I’ve got depths, you know. It's all right?”

“Yes, it's all right.” He’s sure he doesn’t deserve any of this; Zeb’s forgiveness, his strength. His endless kindness. But Kallus is a rebel now; he’ll take what he’s given, and fight for the rest. He lets his head tip forward onto Zeb's shoulder. Zeb curls a hand around the back of his neck as if in answer. "I like it,” he mumbles. 

“Good,” Zeb says, and presses a kiss against his temple. Kallus's eyes go wide. Slowly, deliberately, with every ounce of bravery Zeb seems convinced he has, he lifts his head and rubs his bearded cheek against Zeb’s jaw. He doesn’t miss Zeb’s quick intake of breath. “Aleksya,” he says again, wonderingly.

 _“Aww, you two are cute,”_ a laughing voice crackles over their hidden comms; Sabine. Kallus and Zeb startle apart, then exchange embarrassed glances. Kallus can hear Bridger making faint retching noises in the background. 

Zeb snarls up at the spy-eye in the corner of the room. “How long have you- Karabast, never mind. Make yourself useful and get us out of here, would you?”

 _“Oh, I don't know_ ,” she says, sing-song. “ _You don't look like you're having that terrible of a time. Smile for the camera, now._ ”

Zeb audibly grinds his teeth. “Damn it, Sabine.”

_“Working on it, big guy, don't you worry. We'll have you both out as soon as Chopper can override the locking system.”_

Kallus can't help himself; he half-collapses in relief, head down and hands on his knees, trying to keep his breathing even. Zeb rubs his back in reassuring circles. “What did I tell you?” he murmurs. Sabine coos. “Ah, shut up, you.”

“ _What can I say_ ," she replies jovially as the cell door hisses open. “ _I love love.”_

“You love tormenting me, is what you love,” Zeb growls. They run for it, keeping pace with each other. 

_“Okay, first of all, I can love more than one thing at a time, and second, don't sell Kallus short, I love tormenting him, too.”_ Bridger is waiting for them at the end of the corridor, grinning and gesturing for them to hurry. “ _What else are friends for?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts for Friday, May 1, 2020: tender - prisoner of the empire
> 
> Coming in hot with the Russian diminutives! There are approximately one billion nicknames for Alexander so I just picked the one I thought was cutest.


End file.
